


the one sinner who needed it most

by thelimitsofthe_sea



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelimitsofthe_sea/pseuds/thelimitsofthe_sea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kavinsky couldn’t be damned because he’d never been saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one sinner who needed it most

“You won’t get away with this!” Ronan’s voice snarled over the line.

Kavinsky cackled at his fury. He couldn’t be accused of kidnapping, not really. Ronan’s brother? A dream object. And Kavinsky owned the night, and was lord of all things that came from it. The dream thief was not afraid to take other people’s toys.

Little angel boy, with his gold spun hair and big eyes. Too perfect to be real, and of course, he wasn’t. Ronan, blinded by familiarity, couldn’t recognize the intricate work of Niall Lynch, but Kavinsky had known it immediately. He could admire the genius that had gone into the creation, but he preferred the other end of spectrum. To each their own, he supposed, to every dreamer their dreamstuff.

Which was all he’d wanted to Ronan to see. The world was as infinite or as infinitesimal as they desired, and they had the power in their heads to dream it into genesis and oblivion and back again. Kavinsky knew all the tricks of the trade, but he was fascinated by Ronan’s raw ability. Together, it was game on. Except Ronan didn’t want to play.

Just them.

_That’s not enough._

Ronan had decided this. Kavinsky, flanked by forgeries, had allowed someone real into his chaotic equilibrium of falsehoods. He’d been more than generous; benevolent, even. Ronan was a firecracker of energy with no clue how to channel it, and Kavinsky had shown him how to split reality apart at the seams and take what he wanted. But Kavinsky had his wants too, and he was not used to being denied them.

And how close he had come to this final theft; he could feel the dangerous need in Ronan from the very first, one of Dick III’s pawn pieces who nonetheless walked too close to the flame. Just a little push was all he needed, and Kavinsky was more than willing to be both the snake and the apple next to the wrath of Gansey. He’d held some enticement for Ronan at first, the savage beauty of his thin face, the knowing smirk in his eyes that saw straight through to Ronan’s desires and reflected them right back. But Ronan was fed on secrets, and once Kavinsky had surrendered all of his, he had no more use for him. He was too busy trying to scramble back up the clouds before the gates closed.

So it came to this, a field on fire, Kavinsky’s last grand masterpiece. Out with a bang, just like he promised. He always said what he meant.

“Stop it!”

“No stopping it now, Lynch,” Ronan’s features were desperate and wild in the flickering night, but Kavinsky’s expression was rapturous with joy, washed in the baptismal light of the madness he’d created.

“The world’s a nightmare,” he said, past the point of pleas or pardons. Did that make him the Devil? No, the devil had fallen from heaven once. That was Ronan, on his way down, now frozen mid fall. Once the descent had seemed certain, but gravity had not played into Kavinsky’s favour. Kavinsky was nothingness, he was the border between the fire and the blackness, he was the dream thief. The struggle between salvation and corruption was Ronan Lynch’s fight: Kavinsky couldn’t be damned because he’d never been saved.

He could, however, be tempted. His greedy hands had tried to snatch this shiny new object, but Ronan was no robber’s prize. He was a dreamer, and this time Kavinsky had been undone. He didn’t know whether it was the draw of Ronan’s kindred darkness or his foreign light that had been his doom.

It didn’t matter now. The night was getting late, and it was time for the finale.

These violent delights have violent ends, motherfucker, he thought, and one last laugh died on his lips as his dream creature exploded into him with a burst of brilliant flame. He collapsed back an emptied husk, and for the first time dropped off to a dreamless sleep.


End file.
